


Pirozhki with friend(s)

by helia7



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Gen, Grandpa Plisetsky's old green car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 02:58:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10376349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helia7/pseuds/helia7
Summary: Yuri invites Otabek for lunch at his grandfather's place, but they can't even eat in peace.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A (not entirely) flashfic for Synchronised Screaming.  
> Written for the prompt Otabek & Yuri - visit
> 
> Many thanks to the wonderful Kiraly for proofreading

Otabek bit into the pirozhok and started chewing slowly with his eyes closed. Yuri stared at him and tried to read his face. _Why was it so very hard?_ Especially with Otabek. But he _had_ to know how this stern Kazakh - the person to whom he was connected by a bunch of weird feelings  - liked it. That large pile of pirozhki on the table was his own work - carefully supervised by Grandfather, of course - but still, he put almost as much effort into making them as in his new short programme.

The old clock’s loud beats echoed in the tense silence. A truck rattled by noisily. Someone was shouting in the neighbouring apartment; a door got shut and made the samovar clatter on top of Grandpa’s cabinet.

Otabek finally opened his eyes. “This is good” he murmured. “And thank you for inviting me.”

Yuri’s insides were dancing with joy. It was a good idea to invite Otabek to Moscow before their training camp after all. But he should say something now, shouldn’t he? Something… nice?

Grandpa came to the rescue. “Yurachka’s friends are always welcome.” He smiled. Not that Yuri had asked anyone over for lunch before.

Otabek thanked him again, reached for another pirozhok and turned his head to look around in the cramped little room. For Yuri, Grandfather’s small flat in this neighbourhood of neverending grey tower blocks meant a safe little haven filled with love and the smell of home cooked delicacies. But following Otabek’s gaze over the shabby carpet behind the sofa, the faded photographs on the walls and the glass cabinet jammed with a lifetime’s worth of knick-knackery; he suddenly became aware how painfully old-fashioned the place was. But Otabek didn’t seem to mind it. Or did he? Yuri couldn’t tell.

The glass cabinet captured Otabek’s interest. Not the ancient, dusty souvenirs  - like that broken plaque with weird looking horses and the sign “greetings from the Kazakh S.S.R” - but the small drawings stuck between the glass and its frame.

_Oh shit._ Yuri felt his cheeks burning. “Grandpa, why are you keeping that rubbish?!”

“Those are precious to me,” he said with a smile. But the awkward pictures were Yuri’s childhood doodles of cats, tigers and… a skater. And no matter how bad the drawing was, that stick-legged, silver haired figure was embarrassingly recognizable.

“Let’s go shopping after lunch!” Yuri tried to distract Otabek from those stupid doodles.

“To the GUM?”

“Hell no!”

“It’s supposed to be your favourite place.”  Otabek looked at him with a shadow of a smirk on his face. “According to an interview at least.”

“What?!” Oh, _that_ interview. He will kill Lilia for arranging it. “You can’t tell the reporter of a fashion magazine that you buy your best clothes at the back of a suburban market…” he muttered. “but why are you reading that junk, anyway?!”

Otabek shrugged; his lips still curved. “Let’s go then.”

Yuri’s phone blipped. Otabek’s too. Grandfather highly disliked when Yuri was checking his phone during meals, but he still took a quick glance.

_v-nikiforov just posted a photo._ “What the…”

“Can’t we just eat in peace, Yura?”

“Hmm.”

But the phone blipped again. And again and again.

“What the hell is this idiot up to?!” Yuri snatched up the phone.

A stupid selfie with Katsudon on a slightly familiar city road. He narrowed his eyes. _Are they already in Moscow too?!_

Another selfie. Viktor in an inappropriate pose on the bonnet of an old car. An even more flagrant pose on the roof of the green car. _Wait a minute…_

Yuri jumped up and ran to the window. And indeed, there were two little figures around Grandpa’s beautiful old Moskvich.

“Insolent little shits!” Without paying attention to Grandpa’s disapproval, Yuri flounced out of the room, teared off the entrance door and run down, jumping two stairs at a time. He felt too angry to be bothered by the fact that Grandpa's flat was on the sixth floor. 

“What the hell are you doing here, idiots?!” he shouted in English while catching his breath.

“Hey, hey, isn’t it our little Yurio?” Viktor Nikiforov grinned at him from the roof of the car.

“Hello” Yuuri, the annoying Japanese greeted with that stupid expression of his.

“Get off my grandfather’s car!”

“Oh, I knew this old tin can looked familiar!”

“GET OFF!” The only reason Yuri restrained himself from kicking Viktor was, he had no intention of damaging the poor car. “Why are you here anyway?! Isn’t this city big enough for you?!”

“Uhmm, we’re looking for a place,” Yuuri tried to explain “My sister asked me to buy some clothes… and we were told that the best shop for animal-prints is at a market somewhere around here. But I think we got lost.”

“Nah, we aren’t lost.” Viktor waved his hand.

“I’m afraid, we are. Oh, hello Otabek!”

Yuri turned. Otabek was walking towards them, the plate with the pirozhki in his hands.

“Your grandfather said you should share this with your friends,” he said. He seemed way too calm for this outrageous situation.

“They’re NOT my friends!” Yuri gritted his teeth.

“Thanks.” Yuuri bowed his head slightly. “Your grandfather’s pirozhki are delicious.”

“These were made by me.” Yuri murmured.

“Oh, that’s a good skill to have.” Viktor jumped off the car finally and grabbed a pirozhok. “You can sell them if you don’t get into the finals.” He winked.

Yuri clenched his fists.

“But for now,” Viktor continued with his mouth full,  “maybe you can show us the way to that market.”

“Never!”

***

_“What’s that commotion over there? Is it a sale?”_

_“Haven’t you heard? Viktor Nikiforov and Yuri Plisetsky are here!”_

_“Who? Which reality show are they from?”_

_“They’re figure skaters! Don’t you watch the figure skating competitions?!”_

_“Ah, I don’t have time for that, sweetie; with my grandkids and my aching back and…”_

_“But our Viktor and Yuri are the best in the World! Old Nastia was always bragging about Yuri Plisetsky being her regular customer, but who’d have thought she was telling the truth? And now they’re here shopping with two foreigners!”_

_“Hmm, they should buy some beetroot too…”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous. Sashenka! Get that phone here! I want to show the picture we took of them. That Viktor is a good looking man!”_

_“Which one is him?”_

_“That! The handsome one in the zebra shirt.”_

_“Ah, sweetie, I don’t have my glasses on. They all look so similar in those animal-prints...”  
_


End file.
